


Dead in the City of Angels

by GlutenFreeWaffles



Category: L.A. Noire, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, Detectives, L.A. Noire AU, Los Angeles, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:36:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4402814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlutenFreeWaffles/pseuds/GlutenFreeWaffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1947 Los Angeles. Amidst post-war glory and one of the seediest underbellies in the nation, war hero Steve Rogers has been pulling up the ranks quickly within the LAPD. The chiefs are impressed, but other cops are resentful, including longtime Homocide detective Anthony Stark. Now promoted to the same desk, Rogers is partnered with Stark, which soon will become a difficult bond to break.</p><p>Based heavily on "L.A. Noire", as well as the film noir genre in general.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Homicide. Here Are Your Wings and .38 Pistol.

CENTRAL POLICE STATION

MARCH 20TH, 1947, 8:57 AM

 

“Detective Rogers, meet your new partner. Anthony Stark.”

Steve couldn’t remember the last time someone refused his handshake, but with one hand perching a lit cigarette between two fingers and the other in his pocket, Stark didn’t seem able to return the gesture. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Steve muttered, pulling back the outreached hand.

“I wouldn’t advise starting out with an attitude, Detective. Especially with Stark,” said Lieutenant   Fury, waving forward another man who donned a blue suit. “That’s his domain.” 

The man in the blue suit joined Fury’s side. “This is Detective Rhodes, Stark’s old parter. Maybe he can give you some tips.” 

Rhodes was much more polite to Steve’s hand. 

“Rogers right?” 

Steve nodded. “Nice to meet you. You also Homicide?” 

“Vice. I was promoted about six months ago. Tony’s been lonely without a partner, haven’t you?” He smirked down at the unamused subject of conversation. 

“On the contrary,” Stark mused, sitting up and taking a long drag of his cigarette. “I’ve closed about nine cases. Fury’s officially adding ‘plays better alone’ to my dossier.” 

Rhodes scoffed. “‘Plays better alone’? I’m sure half of LA would have to disagree with that.” 

With a furrowed brow, Steve followed Fury to the front of the squad room. “What does he mean by that?” 

Fury chuckled and shook his head. “Stark’s been known to be passionate about more than just his work. When he’s not interrogating hookers, I assume he’s getting friendly with them.”

Looking up from the wood podium, Fury raised his voice to address everyone in the room. 

“Alright gentlemen. Let’s give a warm and friendly greeting to the newest addition of our humble division; Steven Rogers.” 

A single set of clapping hands sounded in the back of the room. Steve forced an awkward smile and took his seat next to Stark. 

“Rogers just came up from Burglary, so make sure to help him out if he gets tangled in the ropes. I’ve paired him with everyone’s favorite narcissist, Anthony Stark.” 

There’s more laughter now than there was clapping, though Stark didn’t seem to elicit quite as big of a response. Or any response at all. 

“Your in the major leagues now, kid. As for your first assignment… I’m going to have you head down to 148 South Figueroa Street. Dead kid. Found the body naked and beaten in a parking lot a few blocks from his foster home.” 

Steve raised his hand. 

“… Yes, Detective?” Fury answered almost incredulously. 

“Was there any evidence left at the scene?”  


Fury raised an eyebrow, voice stern and low. “That’s above my pay grade, Detective. If I knew, I wouldn’t be sending you and Stark down there, now would I? So beat it.” 

Stark stood up without a word, fixing his tie before strutting out the door. Steve followed. 

“Please tell me I just hallucinated seeing you raise your hand.” Tony sneered once they reached the stairwell and were out of earshot from the squad room. 

Steve shrugged. “Better to look foolish than rude.” 

“Better to look neither.” 

They headed downstairs, Tony making sure to give a cheeky grin to the receptionist before heading towards the exit. Once outside, Steve was surprised to see him gravitate towards an impressive and expensive looking black convertible, and couldn’t believe his eyes when his partner unlocked the door and got in the driver’s seat. 

“This isn’t a police car.” 

“It’s my car.” Tony said dryly. “And I’m police.” He reached over to unlock the passenger’s door. 

Steve stepped inside, observing the dashboard. “You get dispatch?” 

“No. When someone’s trying to reach me for back up they send out a carrier pigeon.” He started the engine and pulled out of Central’s lot, making his way west on 6th Street. 

The first few blocks passed them by in silence. The next few were supported with loud radio music, provided by Tony. Once they were about halfway there, Steve turned the knob in an attempt to change the scowl on Tony’s face.

“So, uh… How long have you been on Homicide?” 

“… Save the small talk, Rogers.” Stark’s eyes didn’t shift from the road. “If you’re looking for someone to talk sports and chew the fat with, I’m not the one to waste your time.”

Steve sighed. “Just trying to be friendly. So is that how it’s going to be, Partner?” 

“Perhaps I didn’t make it clear enough earlier. What I was trying to imply back at central, was that I don’t really ‘ _do_ ’ partners. I work better _alone_. I know it. Fury knows it. Chief of police knows it. There’s only one reason for why they paired me up with you, and it’s because they didn’t want to keep their best pet waiting more than a month to climb up the ranks. Everyone else was already taken and they didn’t want to risk you getting stale.”

Despite the utter bluntness, Steve couldn’t help but smirk. “So I’m guessing you’re not exactly the one to put things gently?” 

“You can call it that. Call it, ‘good cop, bad cop’. Whatever satisfies you.” 

Steve chuckled. “How about we call it breaking the ice?” 

 

148 SOUTH FIGUEROA STREET. 

9:32 AM 

 

Steve swallowed when he caught the first glimpse of the crime scene. A tarp smaller than the ones he was used to seeing was laid out. The coroner standing by obstructed Steve’s view from the body as he took photographs. 

Tony didn’t wait to observe before striding out of the car and walking straight to the man with the camera. “Hey Coulson. What’ve you got?”  

“The body’s peaking in rigor mortis, which means he probably died between twelve and twenty four hours ago.” 

“That narrows it down,” Tony smirked as if he didn’t just tell a joke related to a dead child.  

Steve approached them, face falling at the sight. The body couldn’t have been more than seven years old and was pale with the exception of dark bruises around his neck and face. 

“Jesus,” he muttered, closing his eyes. 

“You religious, Rogers?” Asked Tony. 

“Protestant, usually. At times like this…” He sighed. “Not so much.” 

“We’ll test for semen once we bring him to the lab. Bruising suggests strangulation, but I’m not so sure it was the cause of death, especially since he appears to have been beaten with some sort of blunt object. Open wounds on his head and hands. But here’s the really interesting part.”

Coulson leaned down and turned the body over, revealing extreme discoloration in his flushed buttocks and feet.  

“… Looks like a sunburn. Are those bruises?” Steve asked.

“Blood,” Tony answered. “Happens when you die. Blood settles towards gravity, saturates the skin close to the ground.” 

“Notice anything unusual about our vic?” Coulson chimed in. “Found him on his back, yet no red hue there.” 

“So… the body was moved after death,” concluded Steve.

“Not just moved, but the coloring suggests he was… sitting. When he died,” Coulson added. “Most likely on the floor, or a long flat surface; with his rear and feet on the ground, legs bent.” 

While putting on his gloves, Steve took a deep breath before leaning down to inspect the body closer. He raked his fingers through the hair on the back of the boy’s head and found the still-open wound.  


“He didn’t die from the beatings.”

Steve looked up towards Tony. “What?” 

“He didn’t die from the beatings,” Tony repeated. “Look, if someone’s trying to hit you in the head, you’re not just gonna to sit on your _ass_. You’re going to cower. Attempt to shield yourself, which might explain the cuts on the back of his hands.” 

“So… he was choked to death?” Steve asked, looking at the bruises on his neck. 

Tony didn’t answer. Instead, he looked around the lot and stuffed his hands in his pocket. “Anyone we can talk to about this, Phil?” 

Coulson stood up, eyes still on the body. “His foster parents, for sure. I think the man was already called down at the station, not sure about his wife.” 

“Any evidence near by?” Steve piped in. 

“Jesus, the body was _moved_ Rogers. This isn’t where he died.” Tony held so much disdain Steve was surprised coherent words could even make it through. 

“… Well I’m gonna take a look around,” Steve retorted, promptly leaving the three bodies. The two of which that were still alive gave each other amused glances. 

“So, that’s the Steve Rogers I keep hearing about?” Coulson asked as he made his way to the coroner’s van. 

“Disappointing, I know.” Stark took another white stick from his pocket and lit it. 

“Word on the street is he made it from Burglary to Homicide in two months.” 

“Two and a half. Which I can hardly understand, considering the guy’s a fucking moron.” 

Coulson turned to see Steve examining a piece of cardboard in a nearby dumpster. “Or just thorough.” 

 

A few minutes later, just as Coulson was zipping the body bag, Steve came back with his notebook open. 

“Spy any clues?” Tony asked with a sarcastic eyebrow. 

Steve didn’t give him the pleasure of answering. “I say we get back to Central. Talk to the foster dad.” 

“Ah, you mean the murderer?” Tony asked as they made their way back into the car.

“What?” 

“Not everything has to be a convoluted goose chase, Rogers. It’s clearer than cellophane. Kid’s a trouble maker, acts up, causes problems, whatever the case. He’s getting to be too much of a burden to take care of and so Papa gives him a few too many whacks. Case closed.” 

Steve looked at the case notes as Tony began to make his way back to the station. “But why kill him? I mean, to follow your theory, why not transfer him?” 

“I never said it was planned.” Tony glances at Steve with a grin. 

“Alright. And what exactly ever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

Tony’s silence portrayed his opinion on Steve’s statement better than any sentence could.

 

Once they were about halfway back, a jingle began to play on the radio and was swiftly followed by an excited voice. 

_‘Ipana presents… Bucky Beaver salesman!’_

Tony kept his eyes on the road as the high pitched voice sang.

 

_‘Brush-a brush-a brush-a._

_Here’s the new Ipana._

_With a brand new flavor._

_It’s dandy for you teeth!-’_

 

Steve shut the radio off. 

 

“Have a vendetta against toothpaste ads?”

“No.” Steve sighed, looking to his right. “Just that one.” 

Tony gave him a quick glance before looking back at the road. “So… You were in the war.”

Steve turned to Tony, smile in his voice. “Do I detect small talk?” 

“Keen observation. No wonder you’ve been shooting up the ranks.” 

Steve rolled his eyes in response to Stark’s sarcasm. “Yes. I was a Captain in the 104th. Went abroad just a month after my 26th birthday. But I came home early, just about a year ago, due to an injury. Was relieved from duty with the silver star.”

Tony chuckled. “So, let me get this straight. You went to war, killed a bunch of Germans, got a gold sticker, then came home to find that you didn’t think being a war hero was good enough, so you decided to also become the LAPD’s personal wet dream?” 

Steve licked over his lips. “I like to help people, Tony. It’s something I enjoy doing. And it just so happens to also be something I’m good at.” 

Tony seemed satisfied with that answer for the time being, turning the radio back on so Vaughn Monroe could join the conversation all the way back to Central.

 

CENTRAL POLICE STATION

9:54 AM 

 

Tony leaned on the receptionists desk, voice suave and low. “Hey sweetheart… What’ve you got for us?” 

“There’s a Mr. Henderson waiting for you in interview room two,” she answered with her eyes glued to a file.

“Thanks honey.” 

Steve caught up as Tony made his way to the interrogation. “… You two an item?” 

“What?” 

“You and her. You called her honey.” 

Tony stopped in front of the interrogation room. “Okay. Stop that.” 

“Stop what?” 

“This weird… innocent act you’ve got going on. It’s not fooling anyone, buddy, especially not me. Alright? Quit asking about evidence that you know isn’t there, quit acting like you’re friends with the guy you just met, and quit acting like a poster boy policeman who follows the book. You _know_ what kind of shitty town you’re working in. Act like it.”

Steve blinked at him.

“… Did you rehearse that?” 

 

INTERVIEW ROOM 2

9:59 AM 

 

Tony leaned against the wall as Steve took a seat across from the suspect; a Mr. Donald Henderson. Looking around forty, Henderson clearly didn’t fit the profile Tony had built up for him. His shoulders were narrow, face small, and hair balding. He kept his body curled close to the table while avoiding Steve’s eye, and his wavering soft voice only made him appear meeker. 

“How long did you know the victim, Mr. Henderson?” 

Henderson’s eyes looked up briefly, but quickly found their more comfortable position being pointed towards the table. “Billy was a— a good kid… We’d had him for about four months.”

“We?” 

“Me and my wife. W-we run a foster care system. Right now we have five living with us… They’re good. Well behaved, polite… I can’t— I can’t believe Billy’s gone…” 

Steve glanced down at his notebook, jotting a few notes before looking towards Tony. Tony didn’t offer anything more than a stony expression. 

“When exactly did Billy go missing?” 

“Um… I— I think it was last— No, two nights ago—”

“And you didn’t _call_ anyone?” Steve raised a suspicious brow. 

“Well… Billy was always going on long walks with school friends. ‘Adventures’, he called them… I don’t go to bed late, since I work early mornings. A lot of the time I fall asleep before he comes home. When I woke up my wife was already out running errands. I just assumed all the kids were at school.” 

“And when he didn’t come home after school?” 

“I— I don’t know… I thought maybe h-he’d went to a friends house. He was very sociable. Very independent. Most orphans have to be.” 

The air in the room was stiff. Steve took a deep breath and put his notebook aside, glancing at the suspect seriously.

“So you expect me to believe, that a child in your care goes missing for two days, and you don’t question it? That’s sounding pretty suspicious to me, Donald.” 

Tony’s interest peaked alongside Steve’s tone. 

“I- I didn’t _notice_ …” Henderson’s voice shook along with his hands. “I’m sorry… I really am. I- I’m being honest though, I swear. I work long hours. My wife is the one you want to talk to about the kids…” His voice softened, and looked up at Steve with unwavering eyes. “What happened to Billy is a crime, but being a bad parent isn’t. I’m only guilty on one of those charges. I’m no killer, Detective.” 

Steve studied his face; his sad eyes that knit to form a wrinkle between his brows. The small droplets of sweat forming near his sideburns. The uneven breaths he visibly took as his small chest shook randomly. 

“… So tell me Henderson,” Tony said smoothly as he approached the desk. “If you didn’t kill him, who did?” 

“I don’t know…” 

“You don’t know?” Tony spat. “A child that was in _your_ care was found bloody, and bruised naked in a _fucking_ parking lot! He was beaten, strangled, and probably _raped._ I don’t think you get it, so let me spell it out for you. If you can’t give me a few names, the weight of what happened is going to be on _you_.” 

“L-L-Like I said… He was an independent kid. Jesus, I couldn’t even tell you what _grade_ he was in, much less the people he knew! For all I know it—… it could’ve just been some psycho that crossed his path at the wrong place and wrong time.” 

Steve stood. “Alright, that’s enough. You say your wife was closer to him, can you tell us where we can reach her?” 

“She… She’s probably at home, with the rest of the kids,” Henderson gulped. 

Tony let a sharp breath out of his nostrils.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Henderson,” Steve said, collecting his notebook and ushering Tony out. “We’ll stay in touch if we find anything else.” 

They exited the dark room and Steve closed the door behind Tony. 

“Not our guy,” Tony said frankly. 

“Really? With the way you acted I was expecting you to throw handcuffs on him right then and there. You’re not even the least bit suspicious?"

“No. I’m not speculating, I _know_. He’s not our guy.” 

“You _know_?”

Tony sighs. “I got right up in his face and yelled at him. He didn’t lash back. If anything, he shrank further down. Someone who abuses kids doesn’t do that… Believe me.”

 

643 WEST PICO BOULEVARD

12:13 PM 

 

Steve slid on a pair of sunglasses after realizing the apartment built on worn bricks wasn’t tall enough to block out the sun. 

Tony stepped out of the parked car, taking a sip from his flask quickly. “Ready?” 

“Was that alcohol?” Steve stared at the pocketed flask incredulously.  

Tony just chuckled as he headed for the door. “Believe me, it’s better to have your drinks _before_ you start the interrogation.” He looked at the list of tenants and tapped the number six. “Apartment 6. Henderson.” 

They headed indoors and called the elevator, which came quickly despite the apparent age of the building. 

Stuffed inside the small space, Tony sighed towards the closed doors. “Well, this is awkward.” 

Unsure what he meant by that, Steve didn’t reply and was quiet until they came to the door labeled with a metal ‘6’. 

A woman, who looked to be about the same age as Donald Henderson, opened the door. 

“… Can I help you gentlemen?” 

“Hello ma’am. My name is Detective Rogers, this is my partner Detective Stark. We’re with the LAPD.” 

“Is this about Billy?” She looked at them with hopeful eyes, fingers tightening just barely around the door frame. 

Steve nodded. “We’re the primaries on his case. May we come in?” 

“Yes, of course.” She opened the door wider to let them in. Tony took a cigarette out of his pocket. 

“May I?”

“Oh… I prefer you wouldn’t. I don’t think the kids would appreciate the smell.” 

He holstered the stick. “Fair enough.” 

She led them to the couch and even took a moment to fluff one of the pillows. “Please, sit down. Make yourselves at home. Would you like something to drink?” 

“No, thank you,” Steve answered for the both of them. “We’d just like to ask you a few questions and maybe look around.” 

“Oh. Yes of course,” She agreed, now on the other side of the room. “I can show you the kids’ room. It’s right this way—”

Tony stopped her with a flat hand. “We’ll take it from here. Just sit down, miss.” 

They made their way towards where she had gestured. With Mrs. Henderson alone on the couch in the other room, Steve whispered harshly. “You don’t have to be so rude to her, she’s not a suspect.”

“She’s as suspect as anyone. And a future tip Golden Boy? Sometimes shaking the tree can help a few apples fall loose.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Duly noted. You check the bedroom. I’ll look look around for smaller details, trash cans, bathroom cabinets. That sort of thing.” 

“Oo-kay…” Tony mocked, branching away from his partner. 

 

About ten minutes later, the two found themselves in the shared space of the master bedroom. 

 “Find anything?” Asked Steve. 

“Yeah. Bloody shoes. Women’s size 8.” 

“Really?” 

“No you fucking idiot. It’s a kids’ room, I found what you’d expect. Don’t tell me you solved the case by peering through their goddamned garbage.” 

Steve sighed, looking through the closet. 

“Damn…" Something caught his attention. "Maybe not in the garbage but check this out…” He retrieved a home movie camera that instantly peaked Tony’s interest. 

“Let me see that.” He came forward and took the camera from him, inspecting it. “Holy shit. This isn’t a fun prop or keepsake… There’s film in it. It’s being used.” 

Steve let out a long breath. “Can’t afford an apartment large enough for two people… has a husband working some manual early morning long hours job.… Yet they can afford a personal movie camera. Seems a little odd.” 

Tony eyes widened when he read the label. “Not just any home camera. This little beauty records sound on film.”

“What does that mean?” Steve asked. 

“Records sound on the same film the images are printed on.”

“Doesn’t sound cheap.”

“No,” Tony laughed. “Which means someone’s either very passionate about breaking into Hollywood, or they don’t have as many financial hardships as they’re letting on.” 

Steve sighed and took his notebook out of his jacket pocket. “Let’s find out.” 

 

When questioning Mrs. Henderson, she seemed to answer similarly to her husband, but was able to offer more specific information regarding friends’ names and possible hangout locations. 

“They’d play near the river sometimes,” She’d said, gripping her coffee mug. “Throw sticks over the bridge and race them. That sort of thing. He was closest with another boy he went to school with, Kevin. Er… Kevin… Mertz. He’s at the house a lot, gets along with James and Abigail too. He’s—Er- he… _was_ a year older than Billy. They watched out for each other.” 

Steve offered her a tissue when she started to tear up for the third time during the interview. He looked at Tony, signaling to dig deeper. 

“… Mrs. Henderson, do you happen to have any pictures or home movies of your son?”  


She sniffed and gave Tony a hard look. “Mr. Stark, we can barely afford the roof over our head. We don’t own a camera. Much less film.” 

“Really…” Tony raised his eyebrows and nods thoughtfully. “Well then I guess I come bearing good news. We found a camera worth over a hundred dollars in your bedroom closet.” 

“It’s not ours,” she immediately interrupted. “Our neighbor has a brother in film. She got it for him as a special gift and asked us to hold onto it while she was away on the island for the weekend. See, she’s paranoid because her apartment was broken into last December.” 

“There’s no way to contact her?” Tony asked skeptically. 

“If there were I don’t know the number. Besides, last she heard Billy was missing. She— She still doesn’t even know that he’s— Oh God…” She grabbed the nearest tissue and sobbed into it.

Steve sighed. Dead end. 

“… I’m sorry Ma’am,” he said, hiding his disappointment. “But you’ve been a big help. Would you mind if I used your telephone?”

She shook her head and gestured towards it. “Please.”  

“Thank you.” He looked to Tony, shifting his eyes towards Mrs. Henderson as a sign to comfort her. Tony did so reluctantly. 

“Operator, this is Detective Rogers, badge forty-three-twelve. Do you have any messages for me?” 

“There-there…” Tony patted the woman on the back. Not entirely awkward but it was clear he did it out of obligation. “We’ll find whoever did this. Rogers and I are LAPDs greatest.”

She sniffed in appreciation. Steve came forward.

“Coulson wants us down at the morgue. He found something.” 


	2. One Sandwich For Me and One Cup of Coffee For My Demons

MORGUE  

1:13 PM 

 

“I thought you said you _found_ something,” Tony grumbled.   

“That’s not what I said,” Coulson replied pointedly. “I said I had some new insight.”

“Well what is it?” Steve ignored his partner’s unwillingness. 

Phil looked between the two of them, a thin but proud smile on his face. “I tested for semen. Nothing. Looked under his fingernails. Nothing. No blood, no skin. no sperm.” 

“Groundbreaking evidence, Coulson.” Stark retorted sarcastically. Coulson only looked at him seriously.

“Sometimes a _lack_ of evidence is just as important. What’s it telling us?” 

“He wasn’t raped,” Steve answered in conclusion. “And… he didn’t put up a fight?” 

“At least it doesn’t seem that way… If you ask me? I think he was killed by someone he knew. Unexpectedly.” 

“So where does that leave us?” Steve crossed his arms and looked up at Tony.

“Hungry.” Tony said casually, making his way out. 

“Hungry?” 

“Did I say hungry? I meant starved. Let’s grab some lunch. I have a feeling I’ll be more talkative over a sandwich.” 

 

LANGER’S DELICATESSAN

1:38 PM

 

“What’s blintzes?”

Tony looked up from his menu, bemused by Steve’s furrowed brow. “You don’t know what blintzes are?” 

Steve shook his head. 

“They’re uh… They’re sort of like… thin pancakes. Filled with sweet cheese.” 

“I’ve never heard of them before.” 

Tony took a casual sip of water. “No kidding. I thought there were tons of Jewish delicatessens over in Germany.” 

Steve didn’t satisfy the joke with a look. “I think I’ll have the pastrami on rye.” 

“Do I look like the goddamned waitress?” 

Steve put his menu down, challenging his parter with a stare. “So I have no right acting like a good person, but you can go marching around as a wiseass?” 

“I prefer to think of it as strutting.” 

Steve shook his head. “Uh-uh. Doesn’t work that way, partner. I level with you, you level with me. Deal?” 

Tony sighed, fiddling with his fork. “Whatever.” 

Steve took his fedora off and placed it next to him on the seat, manually trying to relax himself in an attempt to make Tony do the same. 

“You, uh, never answered my question, by the way.” He said as he unfolded his napkin on his lap. 

“What question?” Tony asked, eyes still on the fork.

“I believe I asked you how long you’ve been on Homicide.” 

Tony took out another cigarette, put it in his mouth, and lit it before answering. “Uh… About seven years now?” 

Steve was genuinely impressed. “… Wow. It’s no wonder you’re so—”

Tony’s raised brow interrupted him. 

“I mean…” Steve attempted to steer himself back in the right direction. He was surprised he’d gotten this far. “When we saw that little boy… You looked at him like how’d you look at a crossword puzzle.” 

Tony let out a long drag. “If I got caught up on every death I was sent out to investigate, I’d have slit my wrists long ago.” 

Steve swallowed his water, desperately trying to cool his suddenly dry throat.

“You must have seen your fair share though, Silver Star. Being the pinup boy of the army and all.” 

“Oh death? I… Of course I did. I never claimed to be stranger to death. But it’s… different. My unit was all volunteers, everyone was willing to be there. They wanted to help serve their country and that’s what they died doing. To see that little boy lose everything he could have possibly had…” He shook his head. “I’m used to seeing lives taken in form of bravery. Not tragedy.” 

He barely noticed when the waitress approached. Tony ordered first; a turkey sandwich with extra mayonnaise, a side of french fries, extra ketchup, and a tall glass of cola. Steve softly and politely asked for his pastrami on rye.

“Mm. I like this place, I come here a lot,” Tony said after she left. Steve would’ve thought he was talking to himself, if not for the eventual eye contact. “It’s close to the station, and it’s hard to find good Jewish food anywhere else.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” Steve finished his water. “You were… raised Jewish?” 

“Hardly,” Tony exhaled with his smoke. 

Steve dropped the topic, despite not completely understanding Tony’s answer. “So… Uh, who are our POIs?” 

Tony shook his head. “Beats me. Father probably wasn’t far off. If the kid was independent who knows what kind of creep might have taken advantage of him.”

“But that’s exactly what Coulson disproved,” Steve reminded him. “No skin under his nails. It was someone he knew, it must have been. And the position he was in when he died is… peculiar. There must be something big we’re missing.” 

Tony shrugged. “We can talk to his friends maybe. Kids are often more honest. Unfortunately the higher ups don’t exactly love us interrogating them.” 

Steve pulled out the small notebook he’d been using during the investigation. He’d often sketch out POIs and clues, write small notes on each. It was good drawing practice while he was on the job. 

“Well, I wrote down the name of that one kid she mentioned. Uh… Kevin Mertz,” he read. “I’ll run it by R&I, get an address… parents names. Maybe they have a lead.” 

Tony couldn’t take his eyes of the paper. “Did… Did you draw those?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Gimme that.” He took the notebook from Steve’s hand before his partner could answer and flipped through the pages.

“Oh… They’re, uh, _rough_ sketches. I just like to have visuals in my mind when I’m putting the pieces together—”

“Rough sketches my ass. Shit. These are _really_ good.” 

“Really?” Steve was genuinely shocked by how earnest the compliment was. “I— Thank you.” 

“Yeah. You’re talented,” Tony mused. “Maybe you’ll draw me sometime.” 

Steve laughed instinctually, not at first realizing that he was trying to hide his creeping blush. It didn’t matter though, since he soon realized Tony was still intently looking at the book.

“What’s this?” He pointed to a lengthy string of numbers and letters Steve had written down. 

“Oh… It was on the camera. A serial number or something.” He shrugged. “I wrote it down before we decided to drop it. Thought it could have been important.”

“… Yeah. It could be.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Important. It still might be. Tell you what, after lunch we’ll split. You go take care of the Mertz kid, I’ll look into the camera. Maybe luck will have it that one of us finds our way out of the corner.” 

 

641 WEST 9TH STREET 

3:24 PM

 

Steve had never interrogated a kid before. He knew Kevin Mertz wasn’t necessarily a suspect, but communicating with children wasn’t exactly something he’d had practice in. He grew up an only child, didn’t have many friends, and now lived an unmarried parentless life. Not that he was opposed to the idea of being a father; the opportunity just never seemed to want to present itself. 

He took a filling breath before knocking on the door R&I matched with Kevin’s name. A stout man, with balding hair and a fat face let out a gust of cigarette smoke when he answered.

“Can I help you?” He said in a tone that didn’t sound very helpful. 

“Yes, sir. My name is Detective Steve Rogers, I’m with the LAPD. I’m looking for Kevin Mertz. I… take it you’re not him.” 

The man didn’t seem amused. “What’d he do?”

Steve shook his head. “Nothing, sir. I’m investigating the murder of his friend.” 

The round man rolled his tongue around in his mouth for a moment. “Wait here,” he finally instructed, and turned to disappear further within the house.

A few minutes later, a young boy came to the door. He was long and thin, with dark hair and large eyes. Steve smiled down sympathetically towards him before bending his knees so he could speak at his level.

“Hey… Are you Kevin?” 

“Yes, sir.” His voice was low and sad.  

“Well, Kevin, my name is Steve. I’m a policeman, and I want to help find out what happened to your friend Billy. Is it okay if we talk about it?” 

“Yes sir.” Kevin repeated in the same tone.

Steve tried a sad smile. “That’s a good boy. Where can we talk?”

Kevin thought. “In the park across the street. I don’t think my father wants company over.” 

Steve nodded in agreement. 

“Sounds like a plan. Say, you ever ride in a police car before?” 

Seeing Kevin smile was enough to encourage him. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard.

 

GRAND HOPE PARK

3:36 PM

 

Steve balanced the ice cream cone steadily in his hand as he made his way back to the bench. Kevin didn’t ask for it, but Steve had purchased him an ice cream partly as thanks but also as encouragement. It seemed to work when Kevin took his first lick.

“Wow, thanks a lot officer.” He said with a vanilla-coated smile. 

Steve nodded. “Don’t sweat it. I appreciate you talking to me, Kevin. I know it’s not an easy discussion.” 

Kevin looked down at the ice cream now smoothed out from his tongue. “… Do they know who did it?” 

“No,” Steve frowned. “I’m afraid not. But that’s what I’m trying to figure out. And that’s how you can help me. You knew Billy better than anyone, so I have a feeling you can _help_ better than anyone.” 

“Really?” Kevin seemed to perk up at that. Steve figured he didn’t often get the chance to feel useful. 

“Really.” Steve grinned. He pulled out his notebook and quickly scanned through his previous entries. “Now, Kevin, It’s very important that you be honest with me, or any policeman you might meet, do you understand?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“You be honest now, promise?” 

“Oh, I promise.”

“Good.” He licked over his bottom lip as he remembered the interview with Mr. Henderson. “Why don’t you tell me about your friendship with Billy. What you two liked to do, places you went, people you played with.”

Kevin ate some more of his ice cream as he thought. “Well, we met in school. He was a year younger than me, and he was small. He got picked on by a lot of kids. I didn’t like the way they was treating him, so one day I got in the middle of it. Stuck by him ever since.” 

Steve’s eyes softened. “No kidding… You know, that’s very similar to how I met my best friend.” 

“Really? You stopped him from being bullied?” 

Steve shook his head with a soft laugh. “He stopped _me_ from being bullied. I was a lot like Billy at your age. Stalky and thin. You know what… Now that I think of it, he was a year older than me too. But we were in the same grade.” 

“What was his name?” 

“… James. But we called him Bucky, because of his middle name; Buchanan.”

“Are you still friends?” 

Steve looks down at his hands. “I’m afraid our situation is a little _too_ similar, Kevin. My friend Bucky died during the war.”

“Was he a _soldier_?” Kevin sat up straight, revealing a missing tooth when he smiled.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “He was. We both were. We were stationed in Germany.”  


“Wow. Did you kill Nazis?”

Steve winced. “… We did what we had to in order to save other people.”

“Wow. You sure are brave. When I grow up I wanna join the army and be like you!” 

Steve swallowed and looked down. “I… Thank you, Kevin. But I’d like to talk about Billy now, if you don’t mind.” He hoped his rapid change of the subject would work. Thankfully it did, and Kevin continued.

“Um… Well after school we’d walk home and sometimes take the long way.” 

Steve nodded. “Were there any people that you’d always see? People that knew your route?” 

Kevin shook his head. “No. We stuck to lonely streets so we could talk and not worry about spies.”

Steve couldn’t help the little smile, but quickly straightened it out when getting back on topic. “… What about Billy’s parents? Can you tell me about them?” 

“Um. They’re quiet. Don’t talk much. But they’re good people.” 

“Did Billy like them?” 

Kevin thought. “If I’m honest… You promise not to tell?” 

Steve nodded, heart beating faster as he readied his pencil. “Cross my heart hope to die.” 

Kevin lowered his voice. “He didn’t like them very much, but he never really told me why. He said… They’d make him do things.” 

Steve took a shaky breath. This could be it. “Do things… But he never told you what things?” He narrowed his eyes in question. 

Kevin shook his head. “I thought maybe they were beating on him or something. But I asked him if they beat on him and he said they never did. Plus I never saw no bruises or nothing. The other ones don’t got bruises neither.” 

“But something felt wrong?” Steve clarified. 

“I guess. He never liked talking about the Hendersons. Got real quiet if someone tried to ask about them. My Pa’s not so friendly neither, so that’s why we mostly stayed in the park or by the river.” 

Steve knew something was wrong here. Kevin had no clear motive for lying about Billy’s situation, but it wasn’t coming together. He knew not to push kids too hard, but he needed to find a dig deeper. 

He glanced back down at the notebook and skimmed through the pages, eyes always focusing on that stupid code from the camera. 

“… Kevin,” Steve started slowly. “Have you been to Billy’s apartment?” 

“Oh, yes sir. A bunch of times.”   
  
Steve bit his lip, trying to keep his breath steady. “It’s a small little place. My partner and I went down there this morning. We talked to Billy’s mother, looked around his place. But we didn’t get to talking to anyone else there. Surprised too, since the building is so small. Did you ever meet any of his neighbors?” 

Kevin thought, teeth making their way to the cone. “Um… Yeah. Well, there’s an old lady that lives next door but she’s kind of mean. Sometimes she’d come over and ask Mrs. Henderson for things because she didn’t have them.” 

“Things?” 

“Yeah. Like sugar or coffee or napkins.”

“Ah. So she’s not very wealthy?”  


Kevin shook his head as he finished the ice cream cone. “Nuh-uh. I saw the inside of her apartment once. She had a lot of cats and almost no furniture. Just a couch.” 

Steve nodded, quickly scribbling something down in his notebook. “Uh _huh_ …” 

 

WEST 9TH STREET

3:24 PM

 

“She was lying.” 

“What?” 

“She was lying. Henderson was lying. The old woman that lives next door isn’t wealthy enough to afford that camera and she’s certainly not wealthy enough to be vacationing on Catalina.” 

“How’d you dig that up?” 

Steve leaned against the Gamewell, a little disappointed that Tony couldn’t see his smug smile.

“I talked to the friend. He said their only neighbor was an older lady who couldn’t afford a pack of sugar. I called up the landlord and guess what? He was right. Her name’s Julius, and she’s not away on vacation; she was evicted for not keeping up on rent. That whole camera story about the brother and being away? It’s bullshit.” 

The other end was quiet for a moment. “You’re right. I was just going to try to reach you on dispatch. There are three stores nearby that sell that model of camera. I went to each one and looked through their lodgers. That code you scribbled down was the serial number. Each camera has a unique one. And guess who purchased our model?”

“… Who?” 

“Donald M. Henderson. Got his signature and everything. You starting to feel like the whole clueless charade was an act?”

Steve tightened his hand on the phone, passing in order to oil the gears in his head. “Why would lie?” 

“I have a few theories. Come down to Central will you? Last thing I need is you yapping the case away in public.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and hung up the phone, fishing in his jacket pocket for his keys.

 

CENTRAL POLICE STATION

3:43 PM

 

“So, what were those theories again, Genius?” 

Tony leaned over his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows and eyes glued to the evidence spread out on the table. “This whole camera business stinks. They wouldn’t hide it if it were innocent.” 

Steve shrugged. “Maybe they’re afraid of being judged. They… might have lied about the camera because it would make them look bad. Spending money on a thing like that instead of their foster children.” 

Tony thinks. “Maybe. But they’re still the only ones with the clear motive. And if we listen to Old Man Coulson’s theory, they fit the profile. Maybe the camera has nothing to do with it. It could just be that getting rid of one kid means spending less money.”

“You really think it could be that simple?” Steve raised an eyebrow. “They didn’t seem like murderers to me.”

“Few of them do,” Tony said under his breath.

Steve thought, reclining back in his seat as his hand etched ebony onto a folded piece of paper. “… Let’s follow the camera route for now. Henderson buys the camera. He doesn’t steal it. He uses his money. Where is that money from?” 

“Maybe that’s how they spend their government checks. You get paid to host foster kids, right? Maybe it’s all front for money.” 

Steve makes a face. “I don’t know about that. From what I heard the government’s been known to get frugal with its tenants.” 

Tony considered that. “Alright, forget that. Never mind how he gets it. The point is, somehow he accumulates a hundred dollars or so for the camera. Some work money, some government money, some birthday money, gambling rewards. Whatever it is. He buys the camera.” 

“Buys the camera… for what? To sell?” 

“For more than they paid for it?” He shakes his head. “Not likely. If someone wants to buy it off them what’s stopping them from getting it at a store? Besides, there was film in it. It had been used.” 

Steve looks back at the drawing he’s absentmindedly sketching. He couldn’t get Tony’s beard right. “But they didn’t have any footage of Billy. So what were they filming?” 

Tony looks up at Steve, eyes wide. “… Holy shit.” 

“What?”

But Tony had already started to fly towards the door. “We’re getting in the car.” 

“ _What?”_ Steve asked, annoyed. 

“I think I solved this damn case.” 

Surprisingly, Tony didn’t seem to look enthusiastic about it.

 


	3. An Officer of the Law

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't been feeling well, so sorry this chapter ended a little short. I'll see what I can do about posting another one before next Wednesday. 
> 
> I'd also like to remind the reader that I've chosen not to apply warnings to this work, which does not necessarily mean that no warnings apply. Seeing as though this is a story about homicide detectives, please proceed with caution. 
> 
> Thanks for all the support!

743 SOUTH SAN PEDRO ST

 

4:09 PM

 

Tony took a long sip from his flask. Steve sat passenger from him and reached his hand out to cover the mouth of the bottle. “I’m driving us back.” 

His partner took a long breath. “Don’t worry, I’m not drunk.” 

“Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be drinking so early in the day. Let alone on the job. Let alone in a _car_.” 

“I’ll take that into consideration, mother.” Tony sneered, pocketing the silver case.

Steve locked out the window towards the rundown building they’d parked in front of it. The windows were dirty with dust and a brownish stain that looked like it’d be sticky to the touch. A sign hung lopsided on the door and read: ‘Sorry, we’re closed.’

He looked to Tony in disgust. “You sure as hell don’t seem eager to finish this thing.” 

Tony bit his lip, clearly running something over in his mind. “Then let’s go in.” 

“Go in _where_? Where _are_ we?” 

Tony got out of the car and walked around to the other side, holding the door open for Steve. “Believe me, this isn’t exactly my ideal date night either.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. He’d be lying to himself if were to say that Tony wasn’t an absolutely intriguing parter. Not only interesting, but he was resourceful and experienced. However, Steve felt that Tony was in need some sort of safety net, just in case he hobbled in fell, and constant drinking certainly wasn’t helping his balance. 

“Just tell me this. You think we’ll need our guns?” Steve eyed the uninviting building; noticing the rust that gathered around the gated entrance and the litter piled along the facade. 

“No.” Tony locked the car. His voice hadn’t had its natural buoyancy since they’d left the station. “I’m familiar with this guy. He’s not going to give us any trouble.” 

He walked up to the entrance and sighed, digging his hands in his pocket. “I need you to stay professional, alright? Whatever happens in here happens, and we don’t talk about it until we’re out. Okay?” 

Steve could not possibly imagine what was behind that door. 

When Tony opened it, the jingle of the bell attached on top rang in tune with the squeaking of the wood. A heavyset man stood behind the cashier. 

“Hey! Tony! I haven’t seen you in a while, I was wondering when you’d stop by.” 

Tony sighed. “Not here for pleasure, Happy. Just business.” 

The man looked between the two of them. “Oh, so this isn’t…?” 

“ _No_.” Tony interrupted flatly. “This is my partner. Detective Steve Rogers. Rogers, this Harold Hogan. Friends call him Happy.” 

Steve wasn’t sure if he wanted to touch the hand of man who went by ‘Happy’. 

Happy nodded at Steve politely when he didn’t extend his arm for a shake. “So uh… What business brings you here?” 

Tony leans in and lowers his voice. “I’m looking for something with a married couple. Not just any tape, these are specific people, Jane and Donald Henderson. The man is kind of average and thin looking, balding on the top. The woman is on the taller side, brunette, thicker than her husband. Oh… and uh, I think it might have sound.” 

Steve’s eyes widened as his voice rose to a sharp whisper. “Are you talking about pornography?” 

Tony bite his lip so hard it almost bloodied. “Yes.” 

Happy seemed to notice the tensing mood and quickly ducked behind a curtain that led to the backroom. “I’ll, uh… Go look for you, Tone.” 

It wasn’t until he was out of earshot that Steve glared down at Stark, subconsciously realizing he’d never felt their height difference until now. 

“You purchase films from this man?” 

Tony sighed and looked down at his shoes. “Yeah. Once and a while. Why?” 

Steve glanced towards the curtain and whispered. “These are stag films, Tony. They’re _illegal_.”

“Oh, what are you gonna do? Arrest me?” Tony pulled out a cigarette, quickly putting it in his mouth. 

Steve’s face fell. “And what was that? He was asking about us? He— He thought we were… _together_ or something?”

Tony scoffed. “Oh please, Goldie. Don’t act like you don’t know it happens.” 

“… How often exactly?” Steve asked, standing more firmly. “Why would he ask you that?” 

Tony tapped his fingers on the counter. “Remember what I said? About not talking about until we left?” 

“Yes, but that was before I found out you were doing something against the law.” 

Tony stood up straight. “Listen to me.”

“Stark—”

“I said _listen to me_.” His voice was hard and strong, now raised to its normal level. He looked directly into Steve’s eyes and stood as solidly as his voice. “Just this morning, you were trying to be my friend. So here you go. Here’s your chance. Be a friend and hear me out. I’m not denying that I’ve done business here. I’m not denying that it’s against the law. But, Jesus, you’re acting like you saw me slit a dame’s throat, fuck her corpse, and then ran over it with my car.”

Steve grimaced at the imagery. 

“So be a pal, alright? If you don’t mention this around Fury, I’ll make it worth your while. It’s the right thing to do.” 

“Right thing to do?” Steve crossed his arms. “I’m not an officer of morals, Tony. I’m an officer of the law. So are you.”

“Fine. Whatever. It’s the _smart_ thing to do. You tell someone and all that’ll happen is you coming out looking like an untrustworthy snitch.” 

“Are you threatening me?” Steve stepped forward.

“ _Jesus_! No! Calm the hell down, Rogers. I mean it. I’m trying to be honest with you for Chrissakes.” 

“… I thought you said you were Jewish.” 

“What?” Tony looked at him incredulously. 

“Never mind,” Steve shook his head and looked at Tony with disapproval. Tony stayed stilled. “You're mistaking my surprise for scandal. Of course I know people watch these… Despite the fact you’re an officer, it is a victimless crime and one’s getting hurt. What you like to do in the privacy of your own time is your business. I'd just like you to keep it to yourself.” 

Tony exhaled a long stream of smoke. “Alright.” 

Steve leaned against the counter with a sigh, eyes wanting to rest anywhere but on Tony as his mind rapidly came up with a way to change the subject.

“You think they were using the camera for pornography, but how does that connect to the murder? And if it _does_ connect, how exactly do you plan on explaining this to Fury?” 

“One step at a time, Captain,” Tony put out the cigarette on Happy’s counter. 

Steve looked at him in amazement. “You really don’t have a plan, do you.” 

Before Tony could think of a witty response, Happy poked his head through the curtain. “I found some tapes that might relate to what you’re looking for. 

 

* * *

 

“Sound over pornography? Isn’t that a little… excessive?” Steve asked.

The three of them were standing in the back room, arms crossed as they analyzed the scene projected in front of them. A man was caressing a woman’s naked crotch as she lay in bed with a smile. 

“Sometimes the sounds are the most arousing parts.” 

“Hey, relax, Tony. I just got these carpets cleaned,” Happy piped in. 

“Well this isn’t them,” Steve said plainly as the woman let out a high moan. 

“Don’t worry, there’s a few more reels that might fit the profile— Uh… So long as you promise to keep all innocent participants out of trouble.” 

Steve remained professional, tastefully looking away when the man proudly offered his erect penis. “We’re only interested in the Henderson’s, Mr. Hogan.” 

Happy looked a little uneasy. “You sure? Because, uh… A few of these are a bit on the more risqué side.” 

“How do you mean?” Steve asked. 

Tony was looking at thick stack of reels to the side of the projector. “He doesn’t want us outing his suppliers, Rogers,” he said indifferently, eyes glued to the reels. “Some of this stuff is… out there. To the point of requiring customers to use verbal codes so as not to get hounded by police. Seeing as though we parked a black and white outside, I’m sure you can understand why Mr. Hogan is a little apprehensive.” 

Steve lowered his voice. “Do you sell _snuff_ here?” 

“No! Goodness no,” Happy quickly defended, wiping some sweat of his brow. “There is, uh… Some… Other subjects though. Men together. Women together. Children.” 

“ _Children_?” Steve eyes widen. “Are you kidding me?” 

“Woah there, Sparky. Cool the fuse.” Tony interrupted. “Happy here is just the middleman. He sells them, he doesn’t make them.” 

Steve just gives them both a disgusted look. “You make a living off footage of innocent children being raped?” 

“Not raped! No! There’s hardly any, uh… penetration.” 

Steve gritted his teeth. “Stark you better give me one good reason not to shoot this bastard in the head right now.” 

“Here’s one; he might have our _fucking_ _evidence,_ ” Tony retorted. “Besides, the fact that Happy has some kiddie films may be of use to us.” 

Steve shot a look at Tony. “… What?” 

Tony pulled out a reel and handed it to Happy. The label read; “Stepmother.” 

“Try this one on for size,” he mused as he watched the fatter man prepare the projector. 

“You said they did stuff to him,” Tony said to Steve. “Or at least that’s what Mertz testifies.” 

Steve felt all the air in his body leave as he took a shaky breath, his torso and stomach now feeling completely hollow. “… Coulson said there was no semen.” 

“No semen, maybe.” Tony looked up at the screen. 

It was black and white, and the footage itself had some grain and scratches, but there projected on the wall was a picture of Hendersons’ bedroom. No mistake about that. 

A thin boy fell against the bed, and Steve recognized him as Billy. His heart sank. 

Mrs. Henderson came into the frame as she got onto the bed. She was now straddling him, hands tight around his neck. He was gasping as she was shushing, grinding herself against the boy’s small waist. 

After a few moments, the flailing stopped. Billy’s kicking legs went slack, and Mrs. Henderson was able to dismount him. Facing the camera, she stripped. Steve watched with round eyes, throat caught, mouth dry. 

She was naked now and returned to her position. She used her hand to lift Billy’s penis, placing it inside of her. 

Steve closed his eyes. “Stop it.” 

He must not have said it loud enough, because the tape rolled along in time with Mrs. Henderson’s body. 

“I said _stop_ _it_!” Steve yelled. He felt his chest tighten the way it used to as a child. His legs were falling numb and he reached for something, anything. The lights were on now, and the reel had stopped. 

“Easy there, Rogers.” Tony said. Steve heard the tone better than the words, and was surprised at how casual he could sound. 

Regaining his balance, Steve just shook his head in disgust and jolted outside so he wouldn’t throw up on Happy’s newly cleaned carpet. 

 

* * *

 

 It has been nearly twenty minutes. Steve was still sitting motionless on the curb. Tony eventually folded and came over to sit by his side. 

He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he felt lucky when Steve decided to speak first.

“Are all the cases like this?”

“Uh… No.” Tony said softly. “They, uh… They don’t often involve child pornography.” 

Steve shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?” 

“I meant… Do all of these cases make you feel like this? That… there’s no use in living in a world that’s full of such… horrible people?” 

“Maybe.” Tony offered Steve a cigarette. He declined so Tony lit it for himself. “I guess I’ve been working too long to really know.” 

“Can, um… I’m sorry, but can you put that out?” Steve asked as politely as he could. “I have asthma. Sometimes smoky areas are hard on my lungs.” 

Tony immediately put it out, which surprised Steve, considering he was expecting his partner to put up some kind of fight. 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Was all he asked. 

Steve shrugged. “Never had the chance. It’s… been under control for a good while now. But I felt it start to act up inside back there. I’d just rather be safe than sorry.”

His partner nodded and they sat in silence. Tony looked up at the yellowing sky while Steve kept his gaze locked firmly in the opposite direction.

“We should get going soon,” Steve said to the pavement. “Arrest the Hendersons.”

Tony thought about that. “We need to speak to them again. Right now we only have proof of sexual assault and pornography. No murder.” 

“Jesus, does that even _matter_ anymore?” Steve spit. “These people… What we just saw in there was murder, whether they physically ended his life or not.” 

Tony just let out a long breath through his nose, looking up at the sky. 

When his silence continued, Steve finally decided to look at him. “… How’d you know?” He asked softly. 

Tony just shrugged. “Well, I figured they were buying a camera in order to film something specific. Either… They happened to catch something they don’t want anyone seeing, or they shot it on purpose. Putting that together with what you told me about your interview with Kevin, I thought it was worth investigating. Happy’s the kind of the guy who’d supply that sort of thing. Not to mention it’s the closest pornography spot I could think of.” 

“I’m surprised your mind even went there,” Steve scoffed lightly. “I would’ve never thought…” He voice traveled off and didn’t seem to have any interest in coming back.

Tony chewed his tongue. “As a homicide officer, you’ve got to start. You need to meet people. Learn the gangsters, meet the kingpins, know who’s selling the stag films, the dope, the whores. You’re not going to be able to get through this job without that knowledge.” 

Steve looked confused. “What, so you know gangsters? And drug dealers and prostitutes? But you don’t arrest them?” 

“It’s a game of checks and balances, my friend. Look… everyone needs their vices. Even you. And they’re going to get them one way or another. You learn who’s supplying what, and most of the time you can turn a blind eye. For instance… People are going to want morphine whether it’s on the streets or not. People are going to want sex whether it’s for sale or not. Some people will go further lengths than others. What we do isn’t necessarily trying to stop it all… I think of it more as keeping it in its place. Every now and then you get a few wack-jobs that teeter the scale. Those are the people we get rid of in order to make room for some other folks that just need to make a living.” 

“Maybe I chose the wrong line of work,” said Steve.

“I think the people who really cared about Billy would disagree.” Tony said as he stood up. “Now come on. Let’s get going before the Hendersons realize their main star can be recast.” 

 

* * *

 

643 WEST PICO BOULEVARD

 

5:03 PM

 

Steve stood on one side of the doorway as Tony took the spot on the other. He held his gun steady, waiting for Tony’s count. 

Tony signaled three. Steve took a deep breath.

Tony signaled two. He tightened his grip on the weapon.

Tony signaled one and kicked the door open, gun out as he stepped into the small apartment. 

“ _LAPD!_ Nobody move!” 

Mrs. Henderson, who was in the kitchen, fell to her knees and looked horrified. Steve caught a glimpse of her and couldn’t stop remembering her naked body. However, the screaming children on the other side of the room quickly stole his attention. 

“Put those guns away! You’re scaring the children,” Mrs. Henderson cried.

Tony looked down at her and pressed the barrel to her head. “Since when have you been so concerned with the wellbeing of your children?” 

Steve went to the children and lowered his weapon, bending down to look them in the eye. “Don’t be scared. It’s going to be okay. Go into the other room, please.”  


They didn’t move and Steve realized that maybe talking to kids wasn’t his forte after all. 

“Come on, kids.” He said a little harsher, physically ushering them towards the bedroom. “Let’s move it out of here.”

“Don’t hurt them! Don’t—“ Tony’s pistol interrupted her as it smacked against her cheek. 

“Rogers, would you like to do the honors?” Tony smirked up at him. 

Without returning the expression, Steve marched over to Henderson, who was now holding her cheek in pain. 

“Tell us the truth, Jane.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she winced, lower lids filling with tears. 

“Let me narrow it down then.” Much like he did for the children, Steve lowered himself onto one knee so as to be on her level. The stance was different though. He was in control, rather than at her level. “Billy, Mrs. Henderson. I’m talking about Billy.” 

“I already told you everything I know,” she growled, glaring between the two of them. 

“No, ma’am. I think you left out quite a few important details,” Steve said, eyeing his partner. 

“Yeah,” Tony added. “Like… Why you killed him. And where. And how. Well, actually we know how. But I’d rather hear it from you.” 

“I don’t… I— I’m a grieving mother, how _dare_ you—“ 

“What was it Jane?” Steve said slowly. “He wouldn’t cooperate? Wouldn’t get his woodie up whenever you wanted to use it as a prop piece?”

She stared back at him with eyes that looked more surprised than scandalized. 

Steve got her. 

“… We know all about it. We know you’re bluffing. So let’s quit beating around the bush and let’s get talking. Why’d you kill Billy?” 

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t _lie to me_!” Steve’s voice was suddenly three times louder. Even Tony was taken aback.“Things are only going to get uglier if you don’t tell us the truth, Mrs. Henderson.” 

She looked up at them both, tears in her eyes. “I didn’t kill him…” She sobbed. “I didn’t…” 

“But you raped him.” Tony said pointedly, keeping the gun aimed straightly. “And that’s enough to send you to jail. So why don’t you do everyone a favor and start saying something useful already. You’re not getting of this scot-free, so quit the act and start talking.” 

She shook visibly, clearing her throat. “I didn’t kill him.” 

“Then who did?” Steve questioned, volume at an appropriate level for questioning. “Donald?”

She swallowed, looking like she wanted to answer but couldn’t. “N-not exactly.” 

“Not exactly?” Tony scoffed. “Well then, maybe Billy’s ‘ _not_ _exactly_ ’ dead. Maybe you and your husband ‘ _won’t_ _exactly_ ’ go to prison, and your foster kids ‘ _won’t_ _exactly_ ’ have to relocate their entire lives. Don’t you get it, Jane? This isn’t a game of maybes. This is _life_. This is the _law_. And the law is _only_ made up of ‘exactly’s.” 

She looked up at Tony, voice and expression pleading. “He wasn’t himself. Some of the time he’s… He acts like a different person.” 

Steve’s voice matched this confusion. “What do you mean by that?” 

“I don’t know…” Tears streamed down her face, wiping away her makeup in two easy streaks. “I’m scared of him…. He made me.” 

“He made you?” Steve couldn’t believe it. Not because he thought she was lying, but because he’d seem so timid and nonthreatening during his investigation.

She nodded. “He… He’s like two people. One moment he’s gentle and quiet… The next he’s…” She choked on another sob and turned her head, showing a large bruise on the base of her neck. 

Steve glanced down at her. He was conflicted; the proof of what Jane had done was disgusting, but if she were telling the truth, it would be hard to know how much of a say she really had in it. 

“Stark, cuff her.” He said slowly, turning towards the door. “Try to get some more info. I’m going to find this sonuvabitch.” 

 


	4. Nail, Meet Hammer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I usually try to get these out on Wednesday but I've been busy the past two weeks with my new job and family visiting. I'll be sure to get back on schedule soon. Please enjoy!

6310 FOUNTAIN AVE 

5:45 PM

  

Steve marched into the soup factory where Donald worked. Though he was typically polite and patient, the pure rage inside of him decided he didn’t have time for those traits as he made a beeline for the receptionist’s desk. 

“LAPD. I need to speak to Donald Henderson.” 

“Donald… Henderson…” She moved between ledgers without looking up as she mulled over his name slowly. Steve didn’t have the time.

He stormed away and nearly kicked down the door that led back into the factory. The overpowering smell of vegetables and chicken broth didn’t phase him. He pulled out his gun and yelled as loud as he could over the machinery.

“Donald Henderson!” 

A few people looked up, but no one stopped working. The receptionist was suddenly by his side. “Sir, excuse me, you can’t come in here unless escorted by an employee—”

He took out his gun and shot once in the air. The receptionist screamed and the workers gave Steve his full attention. 

“Donald Henderson!” He repeated, making his way forward and inspecting the different stations. “I need to speak to Donald Henderson!” 

He gritted his teeth to the lack of response and turned to the nearest worker. “I need to know where I can find a Donald Henderson.” 

The man looked petrified. “No… No hablo Inglés…” 

Steve sighed and turned back around. “Does anyone in here speak Eng—”

The racket of about ten soup cans falling suddenly interrupted him. They’d been knocked over by a man who was now running out of the factory. Steve drew his gun and sprinted after him. 

“Stop now or I will shoot!” 

One worker tried to stop the fleeing suspect, but was pushed out of the way by him. Fortunately for Steve, Donald Henderson was, for one thing, not the fastest runner, and also, had underestimated just how fast Steve was. Just after sprinting out the back door of the factory, Steve was able to catch up and tackle him to the ground in the parking lot. 

“Ow…” Donald whined as Steve pinned him to the ground. 

“Hands behind you back!” He barked, grabbing his handcuffs. 

“I— I didn’t— I didn’t do anything,” Donald sobbed from the floor. 

Steve cuffed him and stood him up, voice casual. “Then why were you running, Donald?” 

“A police officer b-barges in b-barking your name? W-wouldn’t you?” 

“Not if I didn’t have something to hide,” Steve raised an eyebrow. “ _Are_ you hiding something?” 

“No! Of course not, I-I’m a good citizen, I- I pay my taxes, I follow the law—”

“So you won’t mind if we go back to your apartment then. Since you’re not hiding anything and my partner’s waiting for us.”  

Donald’s face fell. “Wh-what? Oh no. Y-you spoke to Jane?” 

Steve nodded as he corralled Donald to the back of Tony’s car. “We did.” 

The suspect’s face fell and utter terror filled his eyes. “No, no… No, you— Whatever she told you, you can’t believe her, she’s a compulsive liar.” 

“ _Really._ ” Steve said somewhat amused. “Because she told us the same about you.” 

 

 

643 WEST PICO BOULEVARD

6:36 PM

 

“What’d you get out of her?” 

The married couple were now both handcuffed, sitting on the living room sofa as Steve confided in his partner in the kitchen. 

Tony thought as he spoke. “Uh… Donald made her do it for the money… The choking we saw on the tape? She said it was to knock him unconscious so he wouldn’t be awake for it.” 

 Steve nodded slowly in thought, trying to push the graphic image he’d seen out of his head as he considered the testimony. “Donald says she a liar. Jane says he’s a liar. Only one of them can be telling the truth.” 

 “Or neither,” Tony shrugged. “They could both be liars.” 

Steve rubbed a hand down his face and groaned. “So what’s our play then? We’ve got to find a way to make them tell the truth and be sure of it.” 

The way Tony’s face lit up made Steve surprised he didn’t see a physical light bulb illuminate when his partner had thought of something. “I got it.”

“What? You take one I take the other? Split them up and compare stories?” 

“No. The exact opposite,” Tony smiled. “We want to keep them together.” 

  

6:42 PM

 

“I’m going down to the station, kids,” Tony smirked at the Henderson’s as he grabbed his hat. “Got some evidence held up there that I think might be of some interest to you lovebirds.” 

They didn’t reply as enthusiastically. 

Steve nodded and closed the door behind Tony when he left. “We’re going to straighten this out as soon as he gets back. In the meantime, I’m going to look into finding a place for your kids to stay. Fortunately for us, the stations not too far away. So don’t get too comfortable.” 

 

 

CENTRAL POLICE STATION

 6:54 PM 

 

Tony pulled up to the station and took his time getting out of the car. He lit himself the cigarette he’d been craving since that afternoon at Happy’s. After a few satisfying puffs, he made his way into the building.  

“Hey Pepper. How’re we doing?” He asked the receptionist.

“You can call me Virginia, Detective Stark,” she said with some playful heat. “We _are_ in a professional setting after all.” 

Tony chuckled but suddenly reverted to his more serious tone. “So, uh… Tell me something. What do you know about Rogers?” 

“The one who asked if we were going steady?” She raised a brow.  

Tony made a face. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I didn’t say anything, I swear.” 

“I’m sure you said enough,” she remarked plainly. 

“… Just tell me what you know.” 

“Not much,” she opened a desk drawer and thumbed through some paperwork, eventually picking a folder up. “Got his file.” 

Tony tried to take it but she opened it to read for herself. 

“Steven Grant Rogers. Birthplace: Brooklyn New York, 1918. Been on the force for a little over two years. Eyes: blue, hair: blond, sex: male. This is riveting with gossip.” 

Tony rolled his eyes and motioned for her to hand it over. “Alright alright. I’m serious though, Pep. I’ve spent the whole damn day with him on this goose chase and I still don’t know anything about this guy except for the fact that he’s been jumping ranks like they’re hurtles.”  

“Who’re we talking about?” A sharp weaselly voice form behind them took Tony’s ears by surprise. Recognizing it just sank him into a deep level of annoyance. 

“None of your business, Hammer,” he said cooly, but when he turned to look at the man, he was closer than Tony had anticipated and nearly bumped into him. Justin Hammer, who worked in the ballistics department, was recognizable by three distinct traits: 

 

1\. He was annoying

2\. He was nosey

3\. He wore thick black-rimmed glasses. 

 

“Aw, don’t be like that Anthony,” he grinned. “We’re all on the same team here.” 

“Really? Because last I checked _I_ was interested in women,” Tony remarked under his breath.

Justin just laughed. “You kill me, Anthony. You really do. In fact…” He slid closer and propped his elbow up on Pepper’s window. “I heard that it was your quick wit that got you strapped to the office labrador.” A smile slithered across his face. “Oh! Is that who we were talking about?”   
  
Tony slid the dossier towards Pepper. “Nope.” 

“What’s in the file?” He tried to reach for it but Pepper put it away too quickly. 

“Sorry Mr. Hammer. You can only see staff records by special request,” she said in a tone that wasn’t sorry at all. 

Hammer scoffed. “Well I request to see it.” 

“Request denied.” She slid it back into place. 

Tony winked at Pepper before turning back towards Justin. “Well. It really hasn’t been pleasure, but fortunately I’ve got to get going.” 

Hammer laughed again, snorting every few intervals. “Alright then. Catch you later, Anthony.” 

“ _Much_ later hopefully,” Tony gave him a shit eating grin as he tipped his hat and turned towards the stairs.

Justin just turned to Pepper, with a smile white and faker than a three dollar bill. “That Anthony. He just cracks m e up.” 

 

 

643 WEST PICO BOULEVARD

7:17 PM

 

When Tony gets back to the apartment, he was surprised to find the Henderson's alone in the living room. In fact, when he walked in, he could have sworn he’d just interrupted a private conversation.”

“… Where’s Steve?” He asked as if the people on the couch weren’t two prospective criminals. 

“He— He’s in the ch-children’s room,” Donald stuttered.   
  
Tony nodded. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have some things to pass onto him.” He held up the armful of evidence he’d retrieved from the station, made his way behind the couch to pat Donald on the shoulder, and left the room to meet up with Steve. 

 

 

7:21 PM

 

“So. Now that we’re all reunited, I think we should get to know each other a little better.” Tony sat down and reclined in the chair next to the sofa. Steve stood by the wall, notebook in hand. “Donald?” Tony continued, looking at the sweating man. “Why don’t you start?”  

“I— I don’t have anything to say. I didn’t lay a hair on Billy. I— I’ve been telling you gentlemen the truth this whole time…” 

“What about your wife, Don?” Tony asked, interlacing his fingers and resting his hands on knee. “Has she been telling the truth?” 

Donald looks between Jane and Tony. The poor man looked like he could barely see with all the sweat in his eyes. “I— I don’t know what she’s told you—” 

“What do you think, Henderson?” Steve interrupted. “She’s been pleading innocent this whole damn time. Even when we caught her in the act she blamed you.” 

Donald swallowed and Jane spoke up. “C-Caught?”

Tony nods. “That’s right Don. We know all about your cute little film studio in the bedroom. The camera we found is one I happen to know a lot about. You can get about ten minutes of footage without manually cranking it by winding up the lever. But your movie was twelve minutes. Which means someone had to be manning the film. You’re involved too.”

Donald looks down in shame. 

“So you found the reel. But what makes you think we’ve done more, huh?” Jane piped in. “You find a dirty movie and suddenly that makes us killers?”

Steve removed himself from the wall and walked over to them. “Well, here’s how I see it. We've proved both of you are liars… Donald ran from me when he thought we knew about the murder…And Jane, don’t forget that you _told_ _me_ Donald killed him, and quite frankly, postmortem evaluation suggests the killer is someone Billy knew. Which means it’s likely someone _you_ knew. Finding the film doesn’t automatically make you killers, no, but it’s another hand in this investigation and all fingers point back at this house. And you better believe that we’re going to suck this place dry of all the information it holds and it’s going to lead us to the killer. Whether they're in it or not.” 

Donald looked to his wife in silent disgust before speaking in a barely audible incredulous tone. 

“… You told them I _killed_ him?”

“Did you not?” Tony asked. 

“I— I’ve never hurt anybody…” Donald gulped. “I w-wouldn’t even hurt a fly.” 

Steve frowned at that. “Jane… Please show your husband your neck.” 

“He won’t admit to it,” Jane immediately countered. 

Steve crossed his arms. “Show him or I will.”

Jane scoffed and after a few long moments reluctantly turned her head, showing up the bruise she had previously flaunted towards the detectives. 

Donald looks hurt. “You told them I did that to you?” 

“Just because you don’t remember doesn’t mean you didn't.” 

Her husband’s expression of disappointment slowly morphed into one of anger. “S-stop it.”

Ignoring him, Jane just turned back to Steve in defense. “I’m telling you, he can’t remember half of his life! He _thinks_ he’s telling the truth when in reality—”

“ _Shut up_!” Donald yelled, volume and a lack of stutter taking her by surprise. 

She turned towards him with widened eyes and in a harsh voice warned, “ _Donald_.” 

“No. _Shut up_. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of you manipulating me like this! I don’t have a split personality, I don’t have memory loss. You’re a _liar_ Jane.” 

“I— Y-You can’t honestly believe him!” Jane looked desperately between Tony and Steve.

“I don’t know what you did to Billy and I don’t know why you did it, but whatever reason will not be pinned on me!” Donald shouted. 

Tony looked to Steve with a raised eyebrow and grin, as if they were watching a film that just started to get interesting. Steve didn’t look as relieved. 

“What do you think happened then, Donald?” Tony asked, leaning forward. Donald caught a glimpse of his wife’s cold eye before he opened his mouth to answer.

“I don’t know! I— I never saw my wife as this person. Sh-she’s sweet and loving and… I honestly could never see her doing something like this b-but she’s trying to put the blame on m-me and that’s not true.” He turned back to his wife and looked at her sympathetically. “Jane, I don’t know what I did to make you think I did this to B-Billy. But it wasn’t me. Honest.”

She swallowed and looked back to the officers with tears in her eyes. “Please… Officers you need to help him. He’s delusional to the point where he doesn’t even remember _killing_ somebody. I’m afraid for my children, I’m afraid for _myself_. I love my husband, I do, but I think sending him away is the only way to help him.” 

Steve looked suspiciously at the both of them. “So, tell me Jane. What do _you_ think happened?” 

She teared up, but the restraints prevented her from wiping the streaming tears. “I don’t know exactly… I’ve told you all I could. The first time you came here I— I was afraid to mention my doubts about my husband because I was trying to protect him.” 

“He starts blaming you and suddenly you don’t care about protecting him anymore,” Tony sneered. 

Jane looked at him harshly. “Are you married, Detective?”

“No,” Tony said, crossing his legs. “I’m not.” 

“Then I don’t expect you to understand the complexities of a marriage,” she said. “I love my husband dearly. But that doesn’t mean I’m not afraid of what he’s capable of.” 

Donald remained silent, looking down at his lap. Steve tried to read his face, and was surprised when he saw a glimpse of shame and confusion. Maybe Jane had been right. Maybe Donald was so persistent about being innocent because he truly thought he was.

Then the phone rang. 

“I think that’s for me,” Steve said with a smug grin as he made his way towards the rotary. “Henderson’s residence, this is Detective Steve Rogers speaking,” he answered. 

Coulson’s voice came in strong and clear. 

“Arrest the wife.” 


	5. The Boy in the Box

643 WEST PICO BOULEVARD

7:20 PM

 

Dr. Bruce Banner had made sure to be silent as tip-toed down the fire escape with the delicate camera in his hand. Tony, and his new partner Steve, hadn’t said a word when they’d handed it to him, but even without instruction he knew he needed to be fast in the development of the film.

Luckily he only needed the sound. 

 

CENTRAL POLICE STATION

7:29 PM

 

Once back at station’s basement-made-forensics lab, Banner went to work. According to Stark, the camera could film for about ten minutes by windup alone. That was ten minutes of conversation being heard, literally, behind the backs of the accused. Hiding behind their couch had been one of the pieces of evidence itself, and it had been recording every sound as they sat alone together.

“We’ve got it,” he told Coulson as he finished the last few steps that led to the downstairs lab. 

Coulson had also been instructed by the detectives to help with the plan, and he’d done so dutifully. 

“Great,” Coulson said, gesturing towards a counter littered with different bottles. “I’ve got the chemicals all lined up for development. You take care of that, I’ll get the projector ready.” 

 

* * *

 

 

At first, the only sound they heard was the steady clicking of the projector. The picture itself was boring, camera aimed in no particular direction, seeing as though it was positioned under the sofa. 

A pair of shoes passed the lens and a door shut. The audio was faint and irregularly popped and crackled. Banner and Coulson listened closer. 

“Why’d you have to g-get me involved…” A male voice said. 

“You were already involved,” replied a woman. 

“N-not like this. N-not as a s-suspect.”

The woman said something inaudibly. 

“Roll that back,” Coulson instructed. 

Bruce did so and they turned their ears closer to the direction of the machine.  


“Something about… Your idea?” Bruce guessed. 

They played it back again, Coulson slowly deciphering. 

“Your… idea…” He repeated softly. “Then something… didn’t… do it.” 

The tape continued to role and the husband’s reply came back much clearer than his wife’s. 

“It w-was not my idea!”

“Are they talking about the murder?” Asked Coulson. Bruce shushed him.

The sound began to short out, pops and crackles getting slightly worse. 

“Y-you took an — hand comment and t-t-turned — to some wick—ed — plot b-because — delusional.” 

“Dammit Stark,” Banner muttered under his breath, trying to listen closer.

“Shut up or — hear us.” 

“I d-don’t — care — they do. You can’t — in — box.” 

“… In a box?” Coulson repeatedly slowly to the station’s lead scientist with confusion. 

While the next line was quiet, it came in with more clarity. The woman’s voice said in a faint whisper; “Shut up. If you get me found out with your yapping I s — wear you’ll end up just like Billy, stuffed in — box in some vacant — lot where no one — find you.” 

For a moment, they could only stand in silence as they reflected on what they just heard.

“Play that again,” Banner demanded in a single breath.

Coulson rolled back the tape, and as they listened to it closer, Bruce made sure to write down each syllable. When the last word was written, he looked down to realize the handwritten sentence beneath had turned into a confession. 

He looked to Coulson in disbelief. 

“… Bingo,” he exhaled with a small smile. 

 

 

CENTRAL POLICE STATION

8:43 PM

 

“Cause of death was asphyxiation. Billy had been strangled to the point of unconsciousness. Didn’t wake up due to being taped inside a cardboard box. He died sitting upright against the interior of the box with his knees bent, which explains the discoloration on the corpse.” Steve stood as straight as a board as he delivered the notes to Fury. If Stark hadn’t known better, by the stance alone he’d think Rogers was still in the army. 

“And this strangling and… packaging, was done by the mother?” Fury raised an eyebrow as he thumbed through the file.

“Yes sir,” Steve continued. “Jane Louise Henderson. Maiden name, Jane Louise Smith. She’s also been arrested for the participation and distribution of child pornography. Once we cornered her with the audio from the camera, she admitted to the whole thing.” 

Steve was expecting a nod of approval or a ‘job well done’ from the Lieutenant, but the man didn’t look pleased. 

“The husband… Donald Henderson… didn’t get arrested?” Was all he said. 

Confused, Steve shuffled his feet, breaking the stance slightly. “He didn’t have anything to be arrested for.”

Fury sighed and reclined back into his chair, closing the case file and sliding it back to Steve. “I’m disappointed by this.” 

Steve looked at him incredulously. “ _Disappointed?_ We caught the killer.” 

“I understand. But arresting a woman, a _foster mother_ nonetheless, is not going to look good—”

_“Look good?_ Nick, a child is dead, none of this _looks_ _good_ —”

Fury immediately stood up, cutting off Steve’s disagreement as quickly as he possibly could. “ _Don’t_ call me Nick. And don’t you dare use that tone with me,” he said in a hushed threat. 

Steve stopped speaking but didn’t lose his ground. Fury weighted his hands on his desk, leveling Steve’s eye while leaning closer to him. 

“You are under _my_ desk, do you understand?” 

“Yes Sir. But—”

“Don’t _‘but’_ me. I did not get to be the head of this desk because I let the people under me make my decisions. You do not interrupt me when I’m speaking to you and you do _not_ argue with me.” He scowled at the tall man in an attempt to make him shrink. “I am the only Black man in a hundred and fifty mile radius leading a police squadron. I am one of the nation’s, not _county_ , not _state_ , but the _nation’s_ _six_ Negro commanding officers. And you wanna know how I accomplished that?” 

Steve took a deep breath, keeping his eye contact steady. “By not letting people interrupt you?” 

“Doesn’t hurt. But it also helps to know what makes the LAPD look good. And this?” He jams his pointer onto the file. “Isn’t it.” 

Steve spoke lowly. “With all due respect, I think my job should be more about enforcing the law and less about making the tabloids happy.” 

“Maybe that’s the way it was on patrol or in burglary. But this is homicide, Detective. This is shopping grounds for papers, which makes it what gives the LAPD its image. You really want everyone out there thinking housewives and mamas are on our radar?” 

“They are if they’re murderers!” Steve looked absolutely shocked, turning towards Tony for any sort of backup. 

Tony took the hint and stood up, straightening his tie. “How’s this. We do her trial under the table. Quiet, quick. Don’t mention the rest of it.”  


“The news of the dead boy has already made headlines. Papers are going to want a follow up,” Fury sat back down. 

Steve glared at his Lieutenant. “Yeah. Too bad we already found the person responsible.” Steve swiftly left the room before Fury could retort. Upon turning the corner out of the office, he accidentally bumped into somebody. 

“Pardon me,” he muttered out of habit. 

Justin Hammer readjusted himself, eyes planted on the ground as he smiled bitterly. “You should really watch where—” He then glanced up and quickly noticed who he’d bumped into, stepping back. “Oh! I mean, no, it’s quite alright. Uh, Steve Rogers is it?” 

“I— Yes. I’m sorry, I can’t say I don’t know you.” He shook the strangers hand cautiously.

Hammer tilted his head. “Aw, our mutual friend didn’t mention me?” He asked as he pushed his Ronsirs up. 

Steve furrowed his brow. “Mutual friend?” 

Hammer chuckled. “ _Anthony_ of course. You two are partners, right? Or have I received a batch of tainted gossip?” 

Steve shook his head. “Uh… No. I mean, we’ve been partners as of the last twelve hours… Is— _That’s_ gossip?” 

“Oh, well, I use the term lightly my friend.” He tried to pat Steve’s shoulder but Steve instinctually retracted. 

“Ah, looks like you’ve met the office palooka.” Tony closed Fury’s door behind him before Hammer could react. “Steve this is Justin Hammer. Ignore him when you can, despite how difficult it can sometimes be.” 

Hammer snorted out that nasally laugh again. “Oh, come on now, Anthony. What’s got you in such a bad mood?” 

“Maybe getting heat for solving a case has something to do with it,” Steve sneered.

Justin’s eyes widened behind the frames. “No kidding. What happened?” 

“Read the papers, Hammer. C’mon, Steve. Don’t humor this guy.” Tony put a reassuring hand on Steve’s shoulder, but his partner just knocked it away. 

“Except it _won’t_ be in the papers,” he growled. “Fury’s too concerned about his public image to even—”

“Hey, hey,” Tony glanced quickly at Hammer. “Why don’t we talk about it over drinks.” 

Steve shook his head, stuffing his balled hands into his jacket pockets. “I think I’d rather just go home. I’ll see you tomorrow Tony. Nice to meet you Officer Hammer.” 

“It’s actually _Mr_. Hammer,” Tony corrected. 

Steve just nodded tiredly, waving a halfhearted goodbye to the two of them as he left. 

 

 

SOUTH MAIN STREET

9:15 PM 

 

The walk home from the station wasn’t long nor short, but on this particular night, the twenty minute stroll seemed to take forever. The case was closed. It was solved and the rightful person was going to be held accountable. But the thought still hurt him, still made his stomach feel queasy and his hands clammy. He wanted to shut it off, wanted to go back in time and refuse the case. The dead body. The pornography. The sick things she said. _No_. _Stop_ _it_. Stop thinking about it. 

He’d tried to focus of coming home, but the thought of his rented room wasn’t exactly an improvement. Skid Row was the only area with place he could afford that also came within walking distance of the station. For about $45 a month, he was able to sleep under a wool blanket on a cot in the backroom of a Black man’s apartment. Sam Wilson, the name of this tenant, was a good man, and while Steve enjoyed his company, there was still a sense of loneliness every night he fell asleep to the sound of sirens. 

Sam lived in Skid Row for mostly the same reasons as Steve; because it was all he could afford. While he drank a little more than Steve would’ve liked, he was generous and thoughtful. Did things like leaving notes for Steve if they had run low on eggs, or doing Steve’s laundry without being asked just because he didn’t think they needed to make two trips to the laundromat. That sort of thing. 

He was a nice person to talk to, and especially made a point to show off his love of birds. He was always complaining about the lack they saw in the city. 

“I tell you, I ever got rich enough, I’d be headed straight down to South America,” he’d said one day, looking out the window. 

“Why South America?” Steve had said after taking a sip of his lukewarm coffee. 

“More birds there…” Was all Sam had replied. 

Unfortunately, he wasn’t anywhere close to South America. The only birds he saw in the city were the white middle-aged canaries basked in cheap yellow light that sang in the club where he moonlit as a trumpet player. 

Due to this job, he was rarely home when Steve returned, so it was no surprise that the detective opened the front door to a dark room. While he wished there could be someone to talk to, being alone in the small apartment was infinitely better than the option below. Dozens of people took to the streets like litter, bottles of alcohol in their hand or worse. Steve tried not to think about it, but found himself remembering what Tony had said to him on the curb in front of Happy’s storefront. That thing about the status quo, about not disrupting the junkies and alcoholics so long as the pot hadn’t been stirred in awhile. 

Steve scoffed himself, the thought quickly getting swept under the rug of his attention as he spotted a note on the counter. 

“Watr ben cold all day.”  


Sam wasn’t a stupid man, but he wasn’t well educated in a formal sense either. His illiteracy wasn’t due to him not being able to understand, but rather the absence of people willing to teach him. When Steve had found out Sam couldn’t read or write, he lent him some of his beat up high school novels. The spines were crinkled and some pages bent and ripped, but it was the least he could do. Sam had given him a home when no one else could. 

Putting the note back, Steve stripped himself out of his new suit and tie, carefully folding them into a neat stack before bringing them back into his room. Despite the traffic and incoherent yelling coming from outside, Steve still felt a sense loneliness. He sat on the edge of his creaking cot and pulled out his notebook, thumbing through the fading graphite sketches in order to return to the one he’d started earlier that day.

It was rough, and at this point resembled some of his prolific sketches from cases. He erased some of the soft guiding lines in order to more accurately shape Tony’s nose. It was sloped just slightly, rounding out at the bulb, one nostril was slightly bigger than the other, he remembered. Whether his attention to detail came from art or police work, he’d never know. All that mattered was its handiness in both.

 

CENTRAL POLICE STATION

9:02 PM

 

Tony stepped down into the station’s lab just in time to see Dr. Banner packing up his things. 

“Hey Doc,” Tony said casually. The doctor turned, raking his fingers through his short curly hair. 

“Tony. Hi, it’s good to see you again. You know… outside of a murderer’s house.” 

Tony chuckled and couldn’t help but notice the way the overhead lights reflected on the doctor’s glasses, keeping his eyes shielded. 

“Yeah well. Thought I’d check out the old lab. Kind of miss it down here some times.” 

“That so? Wouldn’t, uh… Wouldn’t have thought that,” Banner said quietly. 

“Bruce, don’t be like that…” 

Banner shook his head, voice bitter. “You’ve been up there for so long. Surprised you even remember where the lab is—” He swallowed, stopping in his tracks and then quieting himself. “I— I’m sorry. That was mean. I just meant, you know… You’ve got your suit and tie. You’re living the life people read about in, you know, _pulp_ novels.” 

“… Bruce come on. That’s not fair. If someone got a raise and they moved from their shack apartment to a house with a fence doesn’t mean—”

“Well as someone who’s still a resident of the shack apartment, I must say, things in that house look a lot nicer.” 

Tony sighed and rolled his eyes. “What the hell are you even _talking_ about Banner? You hate guns, you’re always telling me you’d rather _die_ than go out and do that sort of work.”

Banner buckled his briefcase. “Forget it. I’m not trying to make myself out as some sort of politician here, you don’t have to analyze everything I say. I just meant I’m surprised to see you back down here.” 

Tony nodded in silence, slumping his shoulders and kicking the ground. “Yeah. I should, uh… visit more often, huh?” 

“That’s up to you.” Banner said cooly. 

Tony winced. “… You want a ride home?” 

Banner looked down at his briefcase and cardboard box of chemicals. “Yeah. That… actually would be helpful.” 

 

* * *

 

Tony helped him carry his things to the lot outdoors. When they approached the car, Bruce let out a long whistle. 

“Wow. This… This is _your_ car?” He ran his finger across its sleek black body. 

Tony had never felt so ashamed about his convertible before. “Uh, yeah. It’s not that new. Just looks nice because I make sure to take care of it. Taking care of your iron is a lot like having a pet. They need to be taken care of.” 

Banner just shook his head with a cheeky grin. “You and your iron. You’re like… the Iron man.”

Tony just laughed as he slipped into the drivers seat. “Eh. Doesn’t really hold a ring to it.” 

 

 

964 FRANCISCO STREET 

9:34 PM

 

Tony sat at the bar in his apartment by himself. He had invited Banner to join him there, but not only was the scientist opposed to drinking, he was also an early sleeper and didn’t think he had the time to socialize. 

He couldn’t exactly understand what it was he was feeling. There was a sense of emptiness in the apartment he seldom noticed on the other nights he spent alone. He finished down the last drop of scotch in his glass before making his way to the radio. Perhaps the voice of Billie Holiday would provide substantial conversation.

He picked up the phone when he realized it didn’t. 

Circling his finger around the numbers took longer task than it normally did. Once the first ring sounded, he relaxed, the warmth of the alcohol lingering on his tongue. 

“Hello?” Pepper answered. 

She had one of those voices that sounded slightly different when coming out of the telephone, but it was recognizable nonetheless. 

“Pepper,” Tony smiled sadly. “It’s Tony. What are you doing tonight?” 

There line was quiet for a few moments. 

“I’m not sure. Why?” She finally responded. 

Tony then realized he didn’t exactly _know_ why.

“Uh…” He scratched the inside of his nose. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d want some company? Come over have a drink or… maybe go out dancing.” 

The only sound he heard was static. 

“… Pepper?” 

“… Are you drunk?” She asked. 

Tony chuckled at the assumption. “Not at all. Just a little lonely. Come on baby, we have a good time together, don’t we?” 

He couldn’t bare the long pauses she felt obligated to take between each reply. 

“It’s getting late, Tony. I’m not so sure you’re in the right mind to have any sort of company right now.” 

“Wait!” He frantically stammered, nearly interrupting her in order to make sure she heard him. “Wait. Don’t— Don’t hang up. I just…” He rubbed his forehead. “Did you read the case file?” 

“The case file?” She seemed confused. “The one on the boy in the box?”  


“Yeah…” He took a sharp breath through his nose. 

“Yes, Tony. I read it. It’s my job. What about it?”

Tony didn’t have the answer ready. “I don’t know. I just… I guess it’s just kind of rattled me up.” 

He could hear Pepper’s sigh through the speaker. “Tony, honey, I love you, I really do. But I can’t talk about this right now, okay? I have my own business to take care of, do you understand?” 

He did, despite being a little disappointed by it. “Yeah. Sorry,” he said quickly, hanging up before she could first. 

From the radio, a new song started that had a melody much bouncier than it’s predecessor. He immediately turned it off and returned to the bar in silence. 

 

 

10:58 PM

 

 

The first time he heard the knock, he didn’t realize it was real. His mind was stirred from the alcohol and didn’t process that the sound was coming from his door. He was slumped in a chair in the living room, glass in his hand, tie undone around his neck. He’d just rested his eyes for a few moments…

_Knock knock knock._  

He jolted, splashed a drop of scotch onto the couch due to his sudden alertness. 

“Coming…” He slurred out, grabbing the corner of his jacket to rub out the spill. 

_Knock knock._

“Fuck— I said I’m _coming_! Hold on!” 

He gave up on the stain and stumbled to the door, finding his footing one step at time until his nose met the small stream of light being emitted from the peephole. 

Steve Rogers was what he saw when he looked through it. He unlatched the chain and opened the door, already looking surprised to see him. 

“Steve… What… What are you doing here?” 

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” 

Tony rubbed his eye. “I… Don’t think so.” 

Tony hadn’t taken notice as to how huge Steve was until he realized he barely fit in the frame of the door. Huddled with his shoulders closed in, he held his hat and looked awkwardly into the apartment building. “I’m sorry, I should have called first…” He murmured. 

Tony shook his head, realizing that he probably wouldn’t have picked up due to being passed out. He hadn’t’ remembered it being so dark and Steve’s wet shoulders suggested it had rained, which he had no recollection of. 

“No, no,” he protested, swallowing down a hiccup in the process. “Come in, please,” he gestured. 

When Steve ducked inside, he was captivated by his surroundings. Sure, Tony had nice clothes and a nice car, but nothing about his attitude or mannerisms suggested he lived in a place like this. The living room was spacious, and even had a small bar curved into its corner. Two huge french doors made of a reddish wood seemed to lead into a master bedroom, and the kitchenette snaked off in the other direction. The center had a fireplace, two long couches, and an expensive looking floor radio that seemed to be made of the same wood as the french doors. As only a few lights were on, the dim room’s mood seemed to sit on a fence between racy and cozy. Steve had never seen anything like it. 

“Wow. This is beautiful,” was all he could say as he peeled the wet coat off his back and hung it up on the rack. 

Tony smiled tiredly. “Thank you. Care for a drink?” 

Steve thought and then nodded somewhat hesitantly, taking a seat on the sofa. “I… really should apologize. It’s not like me to invite myself over to another person’s house at this hour, but I—”

“Scotch? Whiskey? Vodka?” Tony interrupted.

Steve was jaded to the point where he could barely remember the difference between each one. “Whiskey…” He decided. 

Tony began to pour his drink, his silence a cue for Steve to continue. 

“I, um… Well what I was saying was that… I guess I’m having a hard time getting my mind off this case. You’re… Well, you’re really the only other person I feel I can talk to about it.” 

Tony came over and handed his partner the glass as he took his seat across from him. “Yeah. You and me both.” 

“Really?” Steve was surprised. Tony had acted so nonchalantly the whole day, he was surprised he had even thought of it after coming home. Especially to a home like this. 

Tony reclined. “Yeah. It’s bothering me.”

“Have you been drinking?” Steve asked. 

Tony shook his head. “No.”

Steve raised his eyebrow to that, considering Tony had drank for less the entire day and now reeked of alcohol. Instead of trying to prove him wrong, however, he just sipped his drink in silence. 

Tony tapped his finger along the arm of the seat. He wanted to ask if they should talk about it, but figured if Steve did, he’d take the initiative. 

“So,” he started instead. “You walked here.” 

Steve nodded into his glass. 

“Live close?” 

Steve simply shook his head. 

“… Where do you live?” Tony sat up, concerned but also intrigued. 

“Um… Closer to the station actually. 5th street? Between Towne and Crocker?” He coughed from a larger sip.  

Tony coughed. “You live there? On the street or in a building?” He tried to laugh at his own joke but Steve didn’t seem to find it very funny. “Sorry,” he said after clearing his throat. 

Steve put his glass on the table. “Cheapest place I could find,” he shrugged. “Rent a room from the guy who owns the apartment, Sam. He’s a good conversationalist but… he works nights so…” 

“Black?” Tony asked. 

Steve was a little taken aback by the question. “What does it matter?” 

“Just curious,” Tony said casually. 

Steve looked at the near empty glass rather that the person he was speaking to. “Um… Yeah. Why, do you have a problem with that?” 

Tony just laughed. Steve didn’t see why the question was so humorous. 

“You know, there’s a reason Rhodes was partnered with me,” he eventually answered. 

“Because they thought you were a racist?” Steve asked, confused. 

Tony shook his head. “Quite the opposite. I guess Fury, of all people, knew who would treat Rhodey like a partner, rather than take him to a back alley and claim the bullet hole was from a shoot out.” 

“Jesus…” Steve just shook his head, tongue protruding slightly. “Guess that would explain why Fury got so defensive… I mean… I really wasn’t trying to make it into a race thing, but I could see why he got the impression if the rest of the squadron would have.” He shook his head, suddenly feeling angry. “Call me forward-thinking but my main concern are those that cause harm.” He swallowed half of the whiskey left. “As long as people aren’t hurting other people… Who cares what color they are or what they do behind closed doors.” 

Tony rubbed a hand down his face. “Yeah… You may find this surprising but, uh… I feel the same way. Well, I guess you kind of found that out earlier with the whole... pornography thing. But, uh, unfortunately not too many other people in our place of work share that philosophy.” 

Steve stared straight ahead at nothing. “… _Everyone_?” 

“Most…” Tony sighed, relaxing with a spread of his legs. “It’s fucking awful,” he laughed. “Why are you even up here?”

Steve couldn’t help but return it with a short grin. “I don’t know,” he exhaled. “Always thought homicide was the ticket.” 

Tony shook his head, staring into his empty glass with a frown. “The only place homicide is going to give you a ticket to is Hell.” 

Steve circled his glass. “And you know what really bothers me? That Billy’s death was in vain, and the person that _admitted_ it isn’t going to get half the hell they deserve.” 

“At least she’s caught. She can’t do anymore else harm…” Tony lulled, closing his eyes. 

Steve agreed with this, though it still didn’t provide a sense of closure. “You know… You really shouldn’t have let me take so much credit.” 

“Why’s that?” Tony opened one eye. 

Steve sighed and put his glass down. “I mean… When we got back to the station, I got a lot of pats on the back and handshakes. But you’re the guy who really solved the case.”

Tony opened the other eye. “How do you mean?”

Steve chuckled in embarrassment. “I didn’t know anything about that camera…I mean… How did you? How did you know it could record sound?”

In the most casual voice Steve had ever heard Tony use, he simply said, “My father invented it.” 

The idea that Tony Stark had parents hadn’t even occurred to him. “Your… father?”

Tony nodded tiredly, slowly falling back to lie on the couch. “Howard Stark…” 

Steve’s eyes blew wide as the familiar name smacked him hard in the forehead. “You’re Howard Stark’s son?” 

“Oh, so you’ve heard of him.” 

Steve couldn’t believe it. The entire war he had fought with weapons brandished by a _Stark Industries_ logo. Growing up the name had always held a somewhat dirty connotation, used to describe a person who slept around. While Steve never followed celebrity gossip, he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten Howard Stark had eventually settled down and had a child. And here he was, sitting across from him. 

“Yeah… I thought—” Steve’s racing mind tried desperately to hold onto a single thought. “Um, I thought he made war equipment.” 

“Once the film industry began to boom he made his own studio as a hobby. Didn’t invent _talkies_ , of course, but he found a way to do the recording of both on one device.” 

“Wow. Well… He was a very brilliant man.” The memory of reading his obituary suddenly popped into his mind. “And… I’m sorry for your loss.” 

“It’s the world’s loss. Not mine,” was all Tony said. 

Steve tapped his fingers together and quietly examined the apartment again. It made more sense now, knowing that Tony, literally, came from one of the wealthiest men in existence. But why was he working in a job like this? It was clear Tony resented the bureaucracy of the place, it’s biased tendencies and blind eyes, so why didn’t he leave? He wanted so badly to ask, but was always raised with the notion that asking others about their financial situation was inappropriate. So instead he just slunk further into his seat. 

“You want another?” Tony asked.

Steve realized he was talking about the drink. “Uh… No. I’m fine. I… Actually already feel better, thanks.” 

Tony hummed and laced his hands over his stomach. “I want you to stay over tonight.” 

“What?” Steve sat up, perplexed.

“Look, you clearly came over here because you’re trying to avoid whatever place is the alternative. Just stay here, I’ll put a blanket and pillow on the couch…” He stretches out with a satisfying exhalation. 

“… For me or for you?” Steve raised a brow, eyeing the way Tony claimed the whole couch for himself. 

Tony just chuckled sleepily, rolling over. “Just… don’t leave…” 

Steve chuckled, using the weight of his arms to push himself out of the chair. “Alright. I won’t.”

He started to collect the glasses off the table. Just as he had come around to the other side of the table, Tony murmured, “Don’t leave me.” 

Steve stared at him, unsure of where the request came from. The way Tony’s chest rose and fell suggested he was falling asleep, and probably didn’t even realize what he was saying. He sighed and put the glasses down and examined the half conscious body in front of him. 

Steve opened the french doors first, to make the task easier. He was slightly distracted by the lavish bedroom it led to. The mattress was large enough to hold three people, and the headboard was as modern and sleek as the rest of the apartment’s furnishings. The plush billows and thick comforter looked so comfortable and luxurious compared to what Steve was used to…

He pushed the thought out of his head and went back to his drunken partner on the couch. With ease, he scooped him into his arms and carried him to the bedroom carefully. 

“Promise me you won’t wake up pissed that I moved you,” he smirked as he lay him down on the bed. 

Tony stirred slightly but didn’t respond. Steve looked him up and down, deciding whether or not he should let Tony sleep in the clothes he’d been wearing all day. With a sigh, he leaned over and started to undo his shirt, one button at a time.

Steve barely had time to examine the intricately large raised scar on the man’s chest before Tony leaned forward and kissed him without warning. 

 


End file.
